Six Mornings After: Flashbacks
by gabrieeella
Summary: A collection of flashbacks (in no particular order) that further flesh out the SMA verse and the characters in it.


_**Summary: A surprise visit from Matt leaves Caroline reeling, and Bonnie gets a glimpse of what's been going on behind closed doors. TW: implications of domestic abuse.**  
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 _Emory University_

 _Spring Semester, 2012_

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It was her fault.

He'd driven all the way from Texas to surprise her. Twelve hours in his rattling rust bucket of a 1982 Ford Pickup, windows down, stereo busted, likely listening to nothing but intermittent flares of talk radio between long, mind-numbing stretches of static. Twelve hours of no air conditioning in the southern humidity, of swampy Louisiana, muddy Mississippi, and balmy Alabama whizzing past him in a russet blur of not-quite-summer.

He'd stopped in Houston to get her favorite tacos from Ultimo's Taco Truck—extra guac, no sour cream—and they'd braved the heat in a dingy little cooler in the backseat. He'd even picked up a bottle of her favorite champagne, a bottle she knew he couldn't afford, because he'd wanted to celebrate: he'd been promoted to manager at the Grill. He could finally make a decent salary, enough to chip in for Vicky's rehab—maybe even enough to get a decent place in a year or two.

So really, it was her fault. Most of it, anyway. Maybe all of it.

She hadn't meant to seem unhappy to see him. She just wasn't expecting it. She'd been in the middle of cramming for her microeconomics final, brow furrowed, highlighter a citrine blur in her fingers, when she heard the knock on the door. Seeing Matt standing there with his crinkly-eyed smile, taco bag in one hand and champagne bottle in the other, made her giddily, soaringly, _stupidly_ happy.

It always did.

But it also stressed her out. Her final was on Monday. She needed an absolute knockout performance to pull off a decent grade in the class, and she hadn't budgeted in Matt time. The tension began creeping in about thirty minutes after he got there, right as the rush of surprise began to fade, and like all of her emotions, it shone bright and obvious on her face.

He'd never been big on school, so the concept of caring about grades wasn't something he really sympathized with. She understood where he was coming from—he was only there for the weekend, she could probably just study Sunday night after he left, what did one stupid class matter in the big scheme of things, in the scheme of them, of their heady, hungry, songs-written-about-it kind of story—but obviously not enough, because it started a fight.

The first one, anyway.

The second fight was different, but also her fault. They were twined in her bed, lolling and lazy, naked skin auroral in the fading glow of the Georgia sunset, and even though they'd just made up, even though their last fight had ended a mere orgasm ago, she pushed a bit. About the job, about his goals, about Wimberley and whether he had any plans of getting out of their tiny Texan hometown.

She hadn't meant to sound pushy, she'd just meant to open up a realistic dialogue about their future and how they might navigate it together, but he immediately went on the defensive. He took it as her belittling his promotion, as her patronizing him and being a snob, and maybe there was a bit of truth in that, really, because Matt was smart as hell and it was hard for her to watch him sell himself so short, but at the same time, if that's what made him happy, she needed to support it, right?

The second fight was worse. A lot worse. It had all its own fire plus the embers of the first one, and it spread far beyond the bounds of its starting point. It spread to old resentments, past fights—to her signing him up for the SAT four years ago when he'd said he wasn't interested in college, to him being high more and more often when they talked on the phone, to Tyler and the time she'd accidentally passed out next to him while studying on her bed, on and on and nastier and louder until their throats were raw.

The sex that followed was different, too. Less 'make-up' and more 'make-a-point'. Bruising grips replaced meandering caresses. Sweet, whispered nothings became possessive growls, demeaning growls, growls of 'you think Tyler can make you moan like that?'. He didn't walk the line between pain and pleasure so much as zigzag it—one second she was on the brink of climax, the next she was wincing and trying to slow him down.

He'd chalk it up to rough sex. He always did, always gave her that baffled look of his, the one that made her feel like a moron for even saying anything. 'Since when is rough an issue for you?' She could never find the words to explain what was different about it, what made it feel like there was spite in his movements, like a part of him was trying to hurt her, trying to show her he could do whatever he wanted to her. So she'd flounder, and with a flare of amusement that screamed of humoring her, he'd concede that maybe he'd still been a little worked up from the fight, maybe he'd lost himself a bit in the leftover adrenaline.

Before he left, he told her, like he always did, that all the shit in his life was worth it if the trade-off was her. That he was sorry about the argument, that he'd start looking into the future, and that ultimately, the only thing that mattered to him was having her in it. She couldn't help but think that it was all said with a glint, though—the smug glint of the benevolent victor, of the person who knew he'd emerged in effortless control of a situation but wanted to seem gracious. It was an apology that had nothing to lose because it'd already won.

But then he pressed his forehead against hers and breathed her in, fingers gentle against her chin, angling her mouth up so he could brush her lips in light, nipping kisses, and she felt herself backtracking. Maybe he _had_ just been a little too riled up from the fight—after all, how could someone holding her the way he was now, like she was the most delicate thing in the world, ever want to hurt her? It didn't make sense. Matt would die over hurting her. He was right, she was just being stupid.

He'd driven all the way here.

He'd brought her favorite tacos.

He'd splurged on her favorite champagne.

And she'd started two fights in exchange.

It was obviously her fault.

So why was she sitting alone in her bathtub, nauseated and trembling, unable to stop staring at the marks on her skin? Why couldn't she stop imagining the brief, terrifying flash of satisfaction she swore sometimes crossed his face whenever his mercurial fingers shifted her gasps into grimaces? Why did she feel like her bones were dissolving, like she was slowly caving in on herself one shaky breath at a time? Why did she feel so pathetically, inconsequentially, crushingly small?

The sound of the front door swinging open made her stiffen. "Sorry, guys!" she heard Bonnie's wry voice call out from the living room, and she immediately abandoned the bottle of wine in her hand, straightening up and scrubbing a hand over her face. "I don't want to interrupt the love nest, I just need to grab my—" Bonnie halted in the bathroom door, face crumpling at the sight of Caroline huddled in the bathtub in her underwear, "…curling iron."

Caroline's face broke into a fiercely bright smile. "Hey, girl!"

"Hey." The reply was puzzled, hesitant—Bonnie knew her well enough to know the bathtub never meant anything good. She blinked for a second before casting a glance over her shoulder. "Where's Matt?"

"Oh, you just missed him—he left about an hour ago." Her stare slowly shifted back to her, and Caroline felt her lips struggling to hold her smile. "He said have a safe flight."

Bonnie gave a slow nod, eyes fixed below her face, and it took Caroline a second to remember he'd grabbed her by the neck. Hard. She shot an instinctive hand up to her throat, blocking it from view, and Bonnie's stare flickered. "Care…"

Tears pricked at her eyes and she averted them. "It's nothing."

Bonnie dropped her bag on the floor and approached the tub, and Caroline wrapped her arms around her body to try and hide it, hot with shame, bracing for the inevitable reaction. It came in the form of a sharp intake of breath. " _Caroline_ ," Bonnie gasped, stopping about a foot from the tub in shock, and Caroline shoved a nervous hand through her hair.

"It's not what it looks like."

"Like hell it isn't," Bonnie replied, stare raking over the constellation of deep, burgundy bruises spanning her upper thigh in horror, and before Caroline could give another instinctive negation, could throw out a tinny 'I bruise really easily!', could invent some kind of accident that shifted the blame, her phone began buzzing against the sink. Even from a distance, she saw the name 'Matt' flashing on the screen.

Furious, Bonnie surged over to the sink and swiped it up, and Caroline felt her veins flood with panic. "Bonnie, no!"

" _Matt_ ," Bonnie hissed in greeting, voice wavering with rage, and she whirled around to look at Caroline. Upon catching sight of her desperate face, however, she froze.

"Please _,_ " Caroline whispered, shaking her head no, tears hot against her cheeks. "Just… just not yet." Bonnie held her stare for a long, heart-breaking beat before drawing in a tight breath.

"Hey," she said over the phone, pushing a stiff hand through her hair. "Yeah, I'm okay, I just…" she closed her eyes, running her hand over her face, and Caroline felt her heart racing in her chest, "I actually just got some really shitty news about my mom, and I'm not really sure how to deal with it, and I really need my best friend right now, so I was wondering if you could just talk to her tomorrow."

Her chest loosened in a wave of relief.

Bonnie's stare sharpened slightly, jaw locking. "Yeah, I know she has a test tomorrow." Her lips pressed into a humorless line, fingers tight around the phone. "Yeah. Yeah, I got it." A long beat. "She's in the shower right now, but I'll let he—" she let out a sharp sigh at what was likely an interruption, hand closing into a fist. " _Matt_. I need my fucking friend, alright? Just give me tonight. You'll survive."

She hung up without waiting for a response and proceeded to shut the phone off. Caroline stared at her hands, unable to bring herself to look her in the eye. Bonnie had always known Matt could be intense—she'd overheard enough of their fights to have a sense for that—but Caroline knew she'd never seen her quite like this. No one had.

She didn't know what to expect. Her skin burned with a paradoxical mixture of denial and shame. Was Bonnie mad at her? Was she mad at herself? Was she responsible for letting it happen, for letting it get to this point? She simultaneously wanted to convince her that it was all a misunderstanding and cry out all of the pent up emotions she'd been hiding, but before she could make a call, Bonnie's arms were around her, pulling her into a quiet, gentle hug.

And that was all it took for her to crack. She didn't know how long she cried. Minutes, hours—time blurred, dusk faded into night, and Bonnie merely sat with her in the tub, stroking her hair and occasionally murmuring that it was going to be okay. When Caroline finally managed to ease her sobs into the occasional hitched breath, she shot Bonnie a watery look.

"I'm s-so sorry."

Bonnie shook her head. "Care, you have nothing to be sorry about."

"No, no, I…" she swallowed, slowly pushing herself up to a full sitting position and letting out a strained little laugh. "This is my stupid melodrama and I dragged you into it and—"

"Caroline," Bonnie said firmly, pushing herself up along the side of the tub with a serious expression, "I don't know what you're going through right now, and I'm not going to pressure you to talk about anything you don't want to talk about. But please, _please_ know," she reached forward to take light hold of her shoulders, giving her a loaded stare, "this isn't stupid. This is the antithesis of stupid. This is completely, heartbreakingly serious, and if he's somehow made you feel like any part of this is a joke, he's lying. The last thing this is is a joke."

Caroline merely stared at her, struggling not to start crying again—God, she was so _sick_ of fucking crying—and before she could crack, she gave a quick nod and cleared her throat. "Can we talk about something else?"

Bonnie's expression softened. "Whatever you want." Caroline kept her bleary eyes on her trembling hands, struggling to come up with a topic, and after a long beat of silence, Bonnie slowly leaned forward. "Did you see yesterday's Real Housewives?"

Caroline slipped into a hoarse laugh. Bonnie hated The Real Housewives. "Orange County or Atlanta?"

Bonnie scoffed. "You know Hotlanta is the only way I roll."

Caroline's lips took on a weak smile. "No, I missed yesterday's." She waved a tired hand, smile straining. "Matt and all." Bonnie nodded, biting her bottom lip, and Caroline let out a shaky sigh. "I mean, I was supposed to be studying all weekend anyway, so… wouldn't have seen them either way."

Bonnie's brow furrowed. "Right, your final's tomorrow."

Caroline sighed, dropping her head against her knees. "I'm going to bomb it, Bon."

"You don't know that."

" _Oh_ , but I do," Caroline said with a weak laugh. "I have twelve chapters left to cover and three of them are brand new."

Bonnie straightened up and checked her watch. "What time's your test?"

Her shoulders lifted into a vague shrug. "Nine."

"Nine," Bonnie repeated, eyes narrowing in brief calculation before she reached back and pushed herself up to her feet. Caroline's brow furrowed.

"What are you doing?"

"Switching my flight," Bonnie replied, stepping out of the tub and heading over to her abandoned bag, and Caroline lifted her head off her knees in alarm.

"What?"

"It's 8:30 now, which means that factoring in the time it'll take to get to campus, we have exactly twelve hours to get you ready to kick this final's ass."

Caroline merely blinked. "Bon, no, you're—" she shook her head as Bonnie fished out her phone and began typing away, baffled, "—you're done with the semester, people are expecting you back home, I can't—"

"Too late—done," she said, lips quirking at the corners, though her brow promptly furrowed. "Actually, should I fly out tomorrow night, or are we going to want to go out to celebrate your slayage?" At Caroline's dumbfounded silence, she nodded, lifting a finger. "You're right—figure that out later. Let's start with reinforcements."

She tapped her phone and brought it up to her ear, chewing her lip. "Lockwood," she said after a beat, "I need you to peace out of whatever party you're terrorizing freshman at and pick up literally every source of caffeine you can find from the 7-Eleven. Yep. Caroline's got a final tomorrow." Her brow furrowed after a second. " _Obviously_. And sour worms, too. And twizzlers." Her eyes flashed with attitude. "Do _not_ snack shame me." She shot Caroline a 'can you believe this guy' look before turning around and waltzing out of the bathroom. "Oh, and see if the Delts have one of those study bibles for Micro…"

Caroline merely stared at the empty doorway, thoroughly overwhelmed, chest tight, tears once again pricking at her eyes, but this time they were from an entirely different emotion. She was so grateful she could burst. She'd been convinced her night would be her alone in their apartment, dreading the break of day, drinking cheap wine till she finally managed to pass out and forget for a while.

Instead, her night was Bonnie acting out vocab terms through overzealous interpretive dance, Tyler coming up with the most inappropriate mnemonic devices for all the different laws, a constantly brewing pot of coffee, sixteen different heart-attack-waiting-to-happen snack options, and more five-hour-energy shots than should've been survivable. Tyler passed out on the armchair at about 5 AM, drooling on a stack of flashcards, but Bonnie somehow stuck it out till the bitter end, even going so far as to make her a 'healthy breakfast!' of pop tarts and runny eggs.

Caroline managed to survive the class with a B+.

A few months later, she would manage to survive Matt, too.

What she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to survive, wasn't sure she'd ever _want_ to survive, was a life where her best friend and knight in 5-foot armor wasn't Bonnie high-kick-means-appreciating-asset-droppin'-it-low-means-depreciating-asset Bennett.

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 _ **A/N:** Hey, guys! So initially, this started off as the opening of the next chapter, but in a surprising twist of events no one could've predicted, I went on way longer with it than I was supposed to and as a result, it's too blocky and obstructs the flow of the main plot. Good news is, I've been meaning to do a flashback collection for a little bit now 'cause I think there's a lot of fun stuff to explore in this verse that doesn't fall into the scope of the main story, so why not start with this one? Full-disclosure: I won't put any pieces here that are critical to the main SMA plot, so if you're not interested in anything outside of that current story, you'll be a-okay not reading these. That said, they will add pretty enriching context to the things I touch upon in the main fic - for example, Caroline's reaction to Bonnie's reveal last chapter is heavily influenced by this flashback - so if you're a sucker for layers, you might like this collection :) Let me know what kinds of things you'd like to see in the comments!_


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